


Though Every Thread is Torn

by thornfield_girl



Series: Threads [1]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Friendship/Love, Lesbian Character, M/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:18:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has suffered a devastating blow. Raylan must reassess his priorities and figure out what justice, friendship and home mean in this new way of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a two-part series. The chapters are very short, and I plan to post one a day.

The dying time had been far more rapid and wide-ranging than Raylan could have imagined. He'd never had an excess of faith in his fellow human beings, having lived and seen enough to know better, but he hadn't expected this. There had been gas riots, food riots, and only one year after the catastrophe, the world is barely recognizable. 

At first, and for some time, people had simply sat tight in their homes, or gone to aid stations. At first, people helped each other. They shared power from their generators, they checked on elderly neighbors. They behaved like the civilized people they believed themselves to be.

Upon the fifth week of no electricity - and therefore no television, no Internet, no phone service - people seemed to begin to change, just a little. Five goddamn weeks, and people began to give up their humanity, or whatever it was that people felt gave them the right to rule the planet. 

 

*

The government had periodically put out written communications, though there hadn't been one in some months. The "solar event," as they were calling it, had burned out the power grid all over the world, but they were working on it. They had a plan, and not to panic. Somehow the message did not seem to have taken very firm hold.

That was the explanation, and Raylan saw no reason to question it. There was no shortage of crazies with conspiracy theories and claims they were being lied to. He didn't see how it mattered. Whatever had caused this, they were quite clearly fucked. Whatever plan they supposedly had was apparently going to take some time, if it ever materialized. No one had been prepared for anything like this. 

The Lexington Marshal’s office continues to function, though they have moved out of the courthouse and into a residential home, equipped with a generator and a cellar they had reinforced for emergencies. Their services had undergone a dramatic change in the past year, now mostly taxed with chasing after only the most serious of fugitives, and providing security for officials on the rare occasion they needed to be in public. They are constantly pressed into service to assist with one crisis after another and Raylan had long since begun to feel like there was very little point to any of it. Moving on seems just as pointless, though. What is there to move on to?

Lexington feels like a dead place. It's full of people, still, but very few of them have any purpose. They shuffle back and forth between their homes, the food distribution centers, work detail or - rarely - their regular job. People in public service positions such as teachers, firefighters, and especially police officers, still have work. Publishers, interior designers, and anyone in advertising - pretty much out of luck. 

One bright blue morning - the kind that used to make him feel hopeful, even when he knew better - he comes into work to find a note on his desk to go see Art first thing. He heads into the back bedroom, where Art’s office was located, and knocks at the open door.

“Come in, Raylan.”

Raylan walks in and leans against his desk. “What’s up?”

“How would you feel about a little field trip today?” 

“Can’t say I’d mind getting out of town. What’s going on?”

"Well... you may feel differently after I tell you. You remember hearing about that gang, all up and down Highway 421, robbing people's food stores, and then those two women got raped down in Corbin."

"Yeah, of course. State Police were on that, though, weren't they?"

"They were. Then suddenly, since three weeks ago, nothing. No activity reported."

"Okay... and we're involved because?"

"The last reported activity was just outside of Harlan. Three days after that, the staties heard tell of an explosion out by an abandoned mine, _in_ Harlan."

Art is giving him a meaningful look that Raylan had no trouble interpreting. 

"So you want me to go there and talk to Boyd Crowder and find out if he killed this roving band of rapists and thieves, and try to bring him to justice for this."

"Well shit, Raylan, that is what we do. Just because the world seems to have taken a detour of sorts, doesn't make this the goddamn Old West. Or the middle fucking ages. We can't allow vigilantes to go free, even now."

Raylan almost wants to laugh. It's been four years since he first returned to Kentucky, returned to Harlan to investigate Boyd Crowder, and now - after the end of the world - everything has come full circle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan returns to Harlan and finds that violence has touched his home town in a more personal way than he had realized.

Raylan heads out to Johnny's bar, figuring if any industry would have survived the past year, it would be the liquor trade. The Crowders had maintained a few stills even before the Event, and Raylan assumes they're working overtime now. Last he heard, most of the larger Kentucky bourbon distilleries are still in operation as well, though necessarily scaled down. 

He pushes at the front door, expecting to find the bar open at 4:30 in the afternoon, but found it locked. There's only one truck parked in the lot, but that doesn't mean anything. Hardly anyone drives these days. He's walking back to his car when he hears the lock on the door slide back, and as he turns, the door opens.

Johnny Crowder stands in the doorway, looking mostly recovered from his injuries. "What are you doing here, Givens?"

"Not even a hello for your old second baseman?" Raylan adjusts his hat, pushing it back from his face, friendly-like.

"You must be confusing me with Boyd. I ain't in the mood to flirt. What do you want?"

“There’s been some reports of a good-sized gang coming through these parts, looting people’s homes, taking their food, raping women. The Marshal service is coordinating with the state police, trying to track them down.”

Johnny’s face closes up completely at that. “I don’t know shit about any of that.” 

“Is that right?” Raylan says softly. “Well, that’s fine, Johnny. Where’s Boyd at, anyway? I’d hate to come all this way and not say hey to an old friend.”

Johnny sneers at him for moment, but then it falls off and he looks different. Raylan can't tell what this expression is - pissed off, worried, beseeching. It seems to be all those things. “You should leave him alone, Raylan.” 

Raylan’s eyebrows rise at the use of his first name, which he's pretty sure he hasn't heard from Johnny since they were teenagers. “Why’s that?” he asks.

“He ain’t been himself, lately. Ava... well, she got killed a few weeks ago.”

Raylan feels his stomach plummet, and it takes him a minute to find his voice.

“She got _killed_?” He feels sick, and he sees Johnny frown.

“You gonna be all right there, Givens? You look a little green.”

“Yeah, fine. Just...”

“Oh yeah, I forgot you fucked her for awhile too. Sorry. She’s been Boyd’s girl, seems like forever. Or, she was, I mean.”

“Boyd’s not taking it well, I guess.” 

“He’s fucked up. He handed everything over to me, says he don’t want no parts of it no more. All he’s interested in now comes in a bottle. He don’t know nothing about your gang. Just leave him be.”

“I’m still gonna stop out and see him. Offer my condolences, anyway.”

Johnny shakes his head, then shrugs. “Yeah, well. Maybe you’ll make his damn day. He always did like it when you’d come in here, back before. Could never figure out why.”

“Just old times, Johnny. You know.”

Johnny is turning away already, but Raylan can still hear him as he mutters, “They’re all old times now.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan finds that Boyd is a broken man, and begins to examine his concept of justice.

Raylan is still reeling a little from the news when he pulls up in front of Boyd Crowder’s house. Johnny had told him he's no longer staying out at Ava’s - he’d moved to one of Bo’s cabins after her death. He walks up to the front porch and sees Boyd, slumped in a lawn chair, asleep, with a half empty jar of shine by his side and a Glock 9mm in the hand resting in his lap. Raylan's thrilled with the prospect of waking him like that. 

Raylan stays on the dirt in front of the steps and calls his name. Boyd stirs, opens his eyes and says, "Raylan Givens. My dear old friend. Have you come to take me?"

Raylan looks at him carefully. He can't tell how drunk Boyd is. He's speaking carefully, but not so differently from when he's just trying to impress someone. 

"Take you where, Boyd?" he asks.

"Why, to prison, Raylan." Boyd gives a smile, as if this should be quite obvious. And Raylan supposes it is, though he asked anyway.

"Why would I do that?" 

"Because I killed those men, Raylan. I burned them where they slept. I blew the shit out of that camp."

"Boyd, why-"

"They came through here, taking what they pleased. This was my county. My people, and I _tried_ , so hard, to take care of them. I know you think I ain't nothing. I know you think I care nothing for anyone but myself, but it isn't true. I fought back against those animals, tried to protect people. They grabbed Ava, Raylan. I couldn't even protect the woman I loved. They took her, they raped her, they killed her. They left her body in my yard. They had to die, Raylan. I had to make that happen."

Raylan stands quietly, not really knowing what to do. He realizes that he hadn't come here looking to arrest Boyd. He wonders if he’d ever had any intention of doing that.

"Boyd... will you get up and come inside?"

"I like it out here."

"I know, but I want to sit with you for a bit. There's nowhere for me to sit out here."

Boyd looks up at him and a faint smile crosses his face for the first time. "All right, Raylan." He struggles to his feet and almost falls on his ass. He looks much farther gone now that he's trying to stand.

"Can I hold that gun for you? Just for a minute?"

Boyd looks at him for a moment, then nods and holds it out to him. Raylan takes it carefully, removes the clip and sticks it in his waistband. They go inside, Boyd swaying alarmingly at one point, until Raylan grips him by the arm to keep him up. They go to the couch and sit down. Boyd tips his head back and closes his eyes, and Raylan sighs. 

“Boyd. I came here to tell you that I was very, very sad to hear about Ava. I know how much you loved her. I know you did everything you could to keep her safe. You’re not to blame.”

Boyd doesn't bother opening his eyes before he speaks. "Are you qualified to make that judgment? You weren't here, Raylan. You abandoned us all long ago. You have no way of knowing what any of us are to blame for."

Raylan works his jaw. He knows it's bullshit, but that doesn't make it sting less. He lets it go, puts it down to Boyd's pain, and says, "I know you would have done everything in your power to protect her. I do know that."

Boyd opens his eyes now and stares into Raylan’s. When he speaks, Raylan can't tell if he's angry, or if he's asking him for something. "What other judgments will you make of me? Will you bring me to justice? Will you hold me accountable for the lives I took?"

"Let's just sit awhile, Boyd. You mind if I get a taste of that shine you were pulling on?"

"I apologize, my friend. How inhospitable I've been. Help yourself."

Raylan gets up to retrieve the jar from the front porch, comes back and sits down. Boyd had leaned forward and is holding his head in his hands. His voice is muffled, but Raylan hears him clearly enough. 

"You always used to hate it when I'd call you that, the last few years. Used to be able to wind you up with that real easy."

"Times have changed, Boyd. You might say my perspective has shifted." Raylan takes a long pull on the jar and grimaces. He recalls the first time Boyd had seen him do that, after his long absence. The way the man had grinned at him, and the way he couldn't keep his own face from answering in kind, he should have known in that moment that Harlan was no place for him to be a lawman. 

"Shifted enough so that you count me as a friend, once again?"

"The way things are," Raylan answers, "I think we need all the friends we can get."

"Truer words were never spoken," Boyd says, very softly.

Raylan considers him and asked, "Why did you confess to me like that? I wouldn't have asked, you know. I didn't really want to know."

"I was so glad to see you arrive, so glad it was you and not some other. I knew you would understand. You always have, even when you wouldn't say so. Or couldn't, maybe it was that. I once judged you harshly as well, though I still held love for you in my heart, still remembered who you were, even if you didn’t."

Raylan knows that such a statement would have made him furious, not so long ago. He's bemused to find that what it makes him feel now is relief. Someone knows him. Someone still cares who he is, who he was. 

"What do you expect me to do here, Boyd?"

"Whatever you know to be right. I will accept your judgment. You may know better than me, I acknowledge that possibility."

Raylan shakes his head hard. "I don't want that on my shoulders," he says.

"I understand that," Boyd replies, looking at him steadily. "But it's there, nonetheless."

Raylan drinks some more and sits quietly. After awhile he gets up and rummages in Boyd's cabinets. There isn't a whole lot, but he knows it's more than many people have. Either he'd had a very large store before he hit this skid, or Johnny is looking after him. 

Raylan finds some peanut butter, and several packages of matzoh, which he can't help smiling about. They must have come off a truck. He spreads the peanut butter on several pieces, and brings the plate out to Boyd. 

"Life is full of little ironies, ain't it Boyd?"

"Life is full of struggle and pain, and loss," Boyd answers gravely. He holds up a cracker and regards it for a moment, then says, "Occasionally, it can be amusing, yes." He takes a bite. 

"Winona lost the baby." 

"Oh. I'm so sorry to hear it. Is she okay?"

"She's fine, I guess, as much as anyone's fine these days. We see each other sometimes. We don't really talk, though. Whatever comfort we provide each other is fairly short-lived, to say the least. Sometimes I think she hates me." He hadn’t meant to say so much, but Boyd has always brought that out in him. 

Boyd says, "At least she's-"

"Yeah. You're right, absolutely."

They both eat a little and sit without speaking. Raylan still doesn't know what he's going to do. It's getting late now, and he doesn't like the idea of driving back to Lexington in the dark. He's alone, and the outskirts of the city are not very well-controlled these days.

"Hey, Boyd," he says, "You be okay with me crashing on your couch tonight? It's late to be driving back."

"Of course. What are friends for, if they can't offer you a place to lay your head?"

Raylan radios in to let Art know he's going to need some time in Harlan, and that he's found a secure place to operate from. Art sounds concerned, but he also sounds too tired to argue much about it. He has other worries to contend with.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan is feeling reluctant to go back to Lexington right away.

Raylan wakes the next morning to the sound of the front door opening, and opens his eyes to see Johnny entering the living room. 

Johnny stares at him for a second, then says, "Why ain't I surprised to see you here?"

"I can't say," Raylan replies, rubbing at his face. "I'm a little surprised to find myself here." He sits up and puts his feet on the floor. 

Johnny gives him a skeptical look, then picks up some bags from the porch and brings them to the kitchen counter. He also puts up a bottle of something brown, the label faded and peeled, as if it had been scrubbed. 

Raylan frowns at him and asks, "Why are you bringing him liquor? He's trying to kill himself, you know that, don't you?"

"He's a grown man. His life is his own to do with what he pleases."

"He told me what he did to those men, Johnny. If he was in a frame of mind to make proper choices, he never would have done that. Now, you know that."

"Shit." Johnny glares at Raylan and says, "So what does that mean? You hauling him in this morning?"

"Honestly, I still ain't sure what I'm planning to do."

Johnny turns sharply, then flicked his eyes over Raylan. Whatever he sees, he apparently doesn't care for, because he scowls and turned away quickly.

Raylan looks up when he hears a sound from the hallway. Boyd is up, leaning in the doorway. "Morning, cousin."

"Boyd. Brought you some supplies. Getting a little scarce, so there ain't much."

Boyd just nods at him. Johnny seems reluctant to leave, and keeps glancing over at Raylan. 

“You probably got somewhere to be, Johnny,” Boyd says. “Wouldn’t want to keep you from it.”

Johnny frowns at him and looks at Raylan, pointedly this time. Boyd smiles, slightly, and says, “Don’t worry about it. Whatever’s gonna happen will happen,” and Raylan sees some peace in his haggard face. 

Johnny nods curtly and leaves in a hurry. 

Boyd comes over and sits on the sofa with Raylan. He looks at him very directly and says, “I meant what I said to him. Whatever you’ve decided, I can live with it. But Raylan, I know you must have made your choice by now. I believe you made it the minute I told you, but I felt it would be best to allow you the courtesy of deliberation. If you’re taking me in, I’ll wash up and get dressed. If not, then... maybe you have other decisions to make.”

“Well, shit.” Raylan rubs a hand over his eyes and looks back at Boyd. “I’m guessing you’ve already figured out what I decided.”

Boyd gives another of those ghostly smiles and says, “I like to think I still know you, Raylan. I’m not too confident about that anymore though. Or anything else.”

“You sound like you did after -”

“Yeah. I know I do. I feel that way, only a hundred times worse. I said I was lost then, but I didn’t know the meaning of the word.”

“You ain’t the only one, Boyd. It’s a lost goddamn world.”

Boyd hangs his head for a minute, then looks up at Raylan with what almost looked like a gleam in his eye. At any rate, he was more animated than he had been since Raylan had arrived.

“You want to go fishing?" he asks. "We could maybe catch something better than Jew crackers and peanut butter for lunch.”

“Nice.”

Boyd grins a little, though, so Raylan just rolls his eyes and lets it pass. Fishing doesn't sound like a bad idea. He hasn't had fresh fish in a very long time. 

Boyd has a favorite spot, he says, so after he throws on some clothes, they start walking there. It's about a mile away, and not one Raylan can remember ever going to. They sit out for a few hours, and Raylan can feel the strain of his daily life fading away. Harlan makes more sense in this new world than it had in the old. It's like Harlan was made for the end times.

Neither of them do much talking while they fish, but that's all right. They catch a couple each, and Boyd suggests they just build a fire where they are and eat them for lunch. “I don’t particularly feel like going back to the house right now, Raylan. Let’s stay out here awhile.” 

They end up eating, then fishing some more and catching some to bring back for dinner. Raylan does a bit more talking this time, asking Boyd about Johnny, and what was going on with all that.

“I took care of what needed to be taken care of. I got justice for Ava, but then I just... didn’t care anymore, about any of it. I told Johnny to take it. I said he could have everything, I wouldn’t challenge him, I just wanted enough to live on. So, like you saw. He gives me a cut of the food and booze that comes in, and I leave him alone. I don’t know that it’s much of a bargain for him. It ain’t what it once was, that’s for sure.”

Raylan nods. “Nothing is. Not my job either. You see what happened here - I was tasked to go after a group of marauders a month after they were dead and gone. Word travels slow, we got strict gas rations to deal with, we just ain't very effective. The Marshal service isn’t much more than a glorified security detail at this point.”

“I can’t say it has escaped my notice that you ain’t exactly itching to get back to it.”

“I thought I’d take another day or two, make sure them boys ain’t hiding out somewhere around here,” Raylan says softly. 

Boyd just nods, like he’d expected as much.

They head back to Boyd’s house just as it begins to get dark, and Boyd starts a fire in a pit he’d dug out back for cooking. Raylan cleans the fish, and they cook and eat them with some canned pineapple from the stuff Johnny had dropped off. They pass the bottle back and forth awhile, though Boyd holds onto it long after Raylan cuts himself off. 

There's no question that night, of where Raylan will stay, and he settles himself in on the sofa when he gets so sleepy his eyes keep closing. Boyd stays up, though, staring into the fire pit as it dwindles to glowing coals and ash. Raylan spares him a moment of concern, but he figures this is probably a regular thing for him. 

The next day, Raylan helps Boyd out with a repair on the roof that had needed to be done for a long time. He doesn't know much about this kind of work, mostly fetches nails and keeps Boyd company, but he has a feeling that's what he most needs anyway.

When they finish, they walk the three miles to Johnny’s. They drink and talk about nothing but old times - _old_ old times - until even Johnny joins in a little, mostly talking shit, of course. Raylan might have been surprised, but he imagines the man is just happy to see his cousin looking less like the walking dead. 

The walk home takes a good deal longer than the walk there, but Raylan feels like it barely happened. He's drunker than he'd been in recent memory, and the last time he'd been like this, he'd been harboring some very dark and angry feelings about Boyd. He doesn't want to think about that now. 

They laugh on the way home as they walk, bumping into each other occasionally, when one of them veers off course. They stumble up the front steps and into the living room, and both of them fall onto the sofa. 

Boyd's mood seems to crash within seconds. He sits staring into the room for a few minutes, then says, "I can't stand the quiet, Raylan. And the... emptiness inside me. Bad things rush in to fill that void."

"I didn't lose someone the way you did, but I understand that void. I know it."

Boyd nods slowly and looks up at Raylan. "You been staring into it as long as I've known you, I think."

"Off and on," Raylan says, shrugging. "I try not to make a full-time fucking job of it. These days, though. Sometimes it feels like that's all there is."

"Not tonight, though." Boyd's looking at him with something old, something like affection.

"No, Boyd, tonight I actually enjoyed myself. I almost didn't recognize the feeling for what it was."

Boyd is silent for a minute, then opens his mouth to speak, hesitating before saying, "I'm afraid to go in there and try to fall asleep. Every night I do, I end up lying in bed with my eyes wide open, going over everything again, hating myself for not -"

"Boyd." Raylan puts a firm hand to his shoulder. "Stop. You don't have to tell me, I get it. You don't have to go in there. Stay here for now. We can keep talking until we fall asleep."

They talk for another hour or so, then Raylan begins to nod off.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan makes some decisions, and Boyd has a bad dream.

When Raylan wakes in the morning, a blanket had been thrown over him and Boyd is nowhere in sight.

Raylan gets up and walks outside to find him sitting in the front porch in his lawn chair again. 

"Hey, Boyd," he says.

"Morning, Raylan," he returns, looking up. "I guess today is the day you have to decide."

"I told you, I already-"

"No, not about me. You. How long do you think you can just keep sleeping on my couch and not thinking about what you're doing?"

"You want me out of your hair, I guess."

Boyd looks at him like he's a fucking idiot. " _No_. I think I made it pretty clear last night that the last thing I want is to have this house all to myself again. You can stay. Hell, I'll clear out the second bedroom for you, it's just a bunch of Daddy's old shit anyway. We can have a goddamn bonfire. But you haven't made up your mind yet."

"I guess not. I don't know what I'd do if I stayed here."

"Well. You're a hell of a roofer, my friend."

Raylan smiles, but he feels like there's a weight on his chest. He takes a deep breath and blows it out. 

"What's the law enforcement situation around here?"

Boyd looks at him sharply and takes his time before answering. "Sheriff took off after the second month, had family in Jenkins to look after. There was a deputy looking to take over, but we... discouraged that."

Raylan returns his gaze, and he knows they're probably thinking the same thing. There is guilt in Boyd's expression, as well as defiance. Raylan leaves it alone. There's really nothing to say about it. 

"What are you thinking of, Raylan?" Boyd sounds extremely wary, and Raylan can't blame him. 

"I didn't come here to interfere in the Crowders' affairs. I wouldn't be looking to do that," he says carefully, "if I decided to stay."

"You'll need to talk to Johnny about it. You can't do anything here without his say so."

"You know as well as I do that he'll listen to you."

"He would, normally," Boyd says, nodding. "But he ain't entirely as stupid as he looks. He'll assume I have a stake in you staying."

"Why would he think that?"

"You mean, besides the fact that last night was the first time I set foot in that bar since I handed the reins to him? He thinks,” Boyd grins, shakes his head, and says, “He thinks I got some kind of weird thing about you."

Raylan laughs, but he knows what Boyd means. Johnny had always been oddly suspicious of their friendship even when they were young. "Maybe he thinks we're screwing."

"That we used to, maybe. Not that he'd ever say that out loud. I believe his head would explode. Look, I'll talk to him if I have to, but I'd rather not. You'll have to be convincing."

Raylan doesn't want to do it that day, though. He has things to think about, including Winona, his job, and whether or not he really wants to be roommates with Boyd Crowder. 

They pull everything out of the second bedroom, because Boyd said he'd been wanting to do it anyway. They pile up what can be burned in the back yard, and load the rest into the bed of Boyd's truck. Boyd says he knows where they can scavenge a bed, but he wanted to wait until the next day, and they can go to the dump then.

They build the fire that night, sitting some distance from it due to the fumes from some of the furniture. Boyd has a grim smile on his face as he drinks his whiskey and watches it burn. He talks a little about Bo, that night, and Raylan mostly just listens. 

They both avoid any mention of Raylan's own father. That still feels too hot to touch, between them, and Raylan isn't sure he's even forgiven Boyd for all that yet. Maybe it will always be there, he doesn't know. 

Raylan wakes with a start in the middle of the night, roused by a shout that he can't be sure he'd actually heard. Then he hears something from Boyd's room, something like gasping, or maybe crying. 

He hesitates, lying there listening. He doesn't know if Boyd would want him in there. He knows he really does not want to be in there. But Boyd had taken him in, hadn't even questioned it. 

He'd done it partly from his own need, that much was obvious, but Raylan knows it was largely from the affection that they'd had for one another many years before. Boyd had given himself permission to hold onto that, even while Raylan had denied it, and thrown it away. 

He sighs, stands, and walks over to the doorway of the bedroom. He can't hear anything anymore, but he can feel that Boyd is awake. 

"You okay, Boyd?" Raylan asks softly.

"Yeah," he says quietly, and it's almost startling coming from the darkness and stillness of the room. "Bad dream. I'm sorry if I woke you."

"It's fine." He stands in the doorway, unsure of what to do now. He thinks maybe Boyd wouldn't want him to leave, but he doesn't know how to offer to stay. "Was it about Ava?"

"No. I never dream about that. Isn't that strange? It haunts my waking hours, but leaves me alone when I sleep."

"Small favors, I guess," Raylan says, leaning against the doorframe.

"I dreamed about the night I got shot."

Raylan frowns, wondering at his choice of words. He walks into the room and sits down on the edge of the bed. Apparently Boyd wants to tell him about it, and he doesn't feel as if he could refuse to listen. Not about that.

"You mean when I shot you," Raylan says, wanting to keep everything honest.

Boyd doesn't respond to that, just starts talking as if he hadn't spoken. "When it was happening, sitting at that table, all I can remember feeling was some sort of curiosity. I wanted to see what you would do. Even what I would do - I wasn't really sure."

Raylan closes his eyes, trying not to remember what he'd been feeling that night. Boyd pauses briefly, then continues.

“In the dream, though, I already knew what would happen. I already knew what it would set in motion. I wanted to change it, to do it differently, but I couldn’t. Everything went along just as it did, but instead of that detached curiosity, what I was feeling the whole time was just this... deep sorrow. And then it happened. I started to pull, you put me down, just like you’d said you would. Only... when I was on the floor, and you were kneeling there beside me, I didn’t feel any pain, or fear, as I did at the time.” 

Boyd stops talking, and Raylan thinks his breathing sounds a little ragged. He wants to interject, to tell him... something. That it would be okay, that he's sorry, that it was years ago now. None of that means anything, and he knows it. So he just asks, “What did you feel?”

Boyd’s answer comes out in barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know, Raylan. Some sort of... peace. But more than that. It was more specific than that. It was about you. It felt like a... a resolution of something. I sat up, and saw that it was just a scratch, after all. I was fine, and I told you that, and you hugged me.”

“I did, huh? I ain’t much of a hugger.”

Boyd laughs and wipes at his face a little. “You don’t say,” he says dryly. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What did you feel after you shot me? Did you think I was going to die?”

“Yes. I was sure of it. I felt... at first, mostly angry. I was angry with you, for putting us in that situation. With Ava, for marrying your asshole brother. With Art, for sending me down there. With myself, most of all, for walking into something like that. I should have known better. I told Art that you and I... I told him we dug coal together, but I said we hadn’t been friends. I thought he wouldn’t send me to talk to you if I told him we were, that we’d been close once, but it didn’t occur to me to wonder why I wanted to go. I don’t know if I just wanted to see you, if I was just... curious, or if I somehow thought I’d be able to protect you. That I was somehow the safer option than anyone else, to come and deal with you. Turned out to be just the opposite.”

“When the anger went away, what then?” Boyd's voice is ragged now.

Raylan laughs harshly. He says, “Boyd, if my anger went away, I don’t think I’d even know who I was anymore.”

“Raylan... I know what I did to you. With Arlo, and -”

“Don’t." Raylan cuts him off flatly. "We don’t need to talk about that.”

“But I just-”

“Boyd,” he snaps, and he hadn’t meant to speak so sharply, but he knows he can't hear this tonight. Maybe in the daytime he could handle it, but not sitting here in the dark in Boyd’s room. “I just can’t, right now. Please don’t.”

“All right, Raylan,” he says. 

“I guess I’ll go back to sleep now, if you’re okay.”

“Right. Okay.” He does not sound okay, not at all, so Raylan doesn't move. He also doesn't talk, as he has no idea what to say now. The silence swirls around and between them, and seems to fill with something. It feels thicker, somehow, and Raylan is aware of his heart unaccountably beating a little faster, a little harder. 

Boyd shifts, and without any conscious thought whatsoever, Raylan reaches out a hand and places it on his arm. 

“Raylan...” Now it's a whisper, and Raylan’s brain comes back online at the sound. _Oh God_ , he thinks, _what is this?_ He pulls his hand away and runs it through his hair. 

“I’m gonna go,” he says, and starts to stand, but Boyd’s hand shoots out and finds a handful of his shirt, bunching it in his fist. “What’re you doing?”

Boyd releases the fabric slowly, then sits up. “I don’t know. I... sorry...“ He trails off, and Raylan can hear him breathing. He can hear his own breath as well, and they both sound as if they’ve been running. “I guess I didn’t want you to go just yet,” he says, huffing out a soft laugh.

Part of Raylan’s brain is aware, fully aware that there's a choice to be made here, that he could get up and leave the room now, and this would almost certainly never be spoken of again. He can hear it, sort of clamoring at him, but it sounds very faint. When it comes down to it, there only seems to be one real option, and he takes it. 

He can see Boyd’s face a little, now that his eyes have adjusted to the darker room. He's staring at Raylan, looking every bit as shocked and messed up as Raylan feels. Raylan leans in, quickly, and presses his lips into Boyd’s. It isn't as much a kiss as it is simple contact, and Boyd gasps, just once, before opening to him. It feels so strange, so different, but the longing he feels coming from Boyd is irresistible. 

Raylan is shaking as he pulls back from the kiss. Boyd is blinking at him. “What the fuck,” Boyd breathes. It isn't a question, nor an accusation, as far as Raylan can tell. He just sounds stunned. Raylan shakes his head in bewilderment. 

Raylan speaks slowly and reluctantly, feeling like he has to drag the words out of himself. “I guess I should go now. Let’s just -”

“Stay, Raylan. I don’t want you to go. We don’t have to... I don’t... just don’t leave yet.”

Raylan feels like that might be a problem, staying but _not_ doing. He’d never wanted this. _Had he?_ How could this come out of nowhere? But he wants it now, that's for goddamn sure. He can't even come up with too many reasons why he shouldn’t have it. Who cares now, about any of that shit? 

“Move over, Boyd. Lemme lie down.” Boyd scoots over and gives Raylan the one pillow that's on the double bed. “Tell me what you were gonna say about Arlo,” Raylan says. He thinks, maybe, he needs to hear this before deciding anything else.

“I didn’t take him in to hurt you. I did it because... well, first because I knew he could help me. And then I felt bad for him, concerned about him.” Raylan starts to interject with something angry, but Boyd cuts him off. “I know. I know what he did to you and your mama. I knew it, but I wasn’t there, Raylan. I didn’t experience it. All I saw was a sick old man.”

“Okay.” It really isn't. 

“What I said to you, about him, after everything went down. That _was_ to hurt you. I was hurting, and I sought to hurt you in return. I was angry. I don’t think I ever stopped being angry at you, until maybe tonight, when I had that dream. Or maybe it happened over the last couple days, and that’s why the dream came to me tonight. The dream was about me forgiving you, and wishing for your forgiveness.”

Raylan lies silently, with his eyes closed. He thinks he would like to forgive Boyd, but he doesn't know how. He doesn't say a word, and doesn't make a sound until he feels Boyd’s hand on his shoulder, and the weight of his arm across his chest. He opens his eyes to see Boyd’s face looking down at him, frowning slightly like he's still trying to figure something out. Raylan holds his gaze, figures he might as well leave it up to Boyd this time. He's tired of being the decider. 

“Do you forgive me, Raylan? Can you?”

“I don’t know. Stop talking now. No more talking. Let’s just...”

Boyd doesn't make him finish his sentence, which is good, because Raylan isn't sure he would have been able to say the words, or what words he would even have used. Boyd kisses him, and after awhile begins to touch him, to run his hands over his body. Boyd’s kisses feel so different, so angular and toothy, but they're as full of whatever this feeling is, this thing that had sparked up from nothing, as Raylan’s own kisses are. 

And he _smells_... familiar. Raylan doesn't know why Boyd’s smell should be so comforting, or why he should know it so well. He certainly hadn’t been aware of it until this moment, but it hits him like a ton of bricks when he kisses Boyd on the neck and sticks his nose into his hair. 

Boyd pulls himself up, over, on top of Raylan. Raylan can feel him, and that's fucking weird, again, he can feel Boyd's cock pressing into his hip. It's weird, and new, and fuck if it isn't the most exciting thing he's felt in God knows how long. 

Raylan is pulling at his head with two hands, as if he can somehow satisfy all of the desires surging up inside of him, just through the point at which their lips meet. He doesn't know what else to do. That they're even doing this is almost more than he can handle. 

Boyd draws back, pulls Raylan's hands from his face and kneels over him. He holds Raylan's hands close to his chest and looks down at down at him. His eyes look like they could bore a hole into him if he stares into them long enough, and Raylan feels completely overwhelmed. He has no idea what Boyd wants from him, or how to give it to him. He thinks maybe he should just tell him that.

"Boyd. I want... I don't know what to do."

Boyd shrugs and replies, "You think I know better than you? Are we really doing this, then?"

Raylan is a little surprised by that, because in his opinion they'd gone beyond the point of no return some time ago. "Unless you don't want to?" 

Boyd answers by pushing his hands back into the mattress and kissing him again. He rubs his hand along Raylan's erection, and Raylan groans. He gropes at Boyd's hips, pulling them tight against him. He feels like a teenager again, like when he'd get a girl in his truck, parked somewhere private, and he'd pull her into his lap. 

He pushes up at Boyd just like he'd done with those girls, searching for something that he was never sure he'd get. Sometimes they'd grind down on him, give him what he needed, though maybe not what he'd most wanted. 

Boyd rocks his hips into Raylan as they kiss, at one point making a sound almost like a whine in his excitement and frustration. Raylan loses the last of his patience, with both of them. He pushes Boyd off of him and pulls off the sweatpants he had lent him, and pushes down his underwear. Boyd stares at him for a second, then does the same. 

He returns to Boyd's side as soon as he's undressed, and reaches for him, pulls him close again. He puts his hand on Boyd's cock, ignoring his brain while it shouts at him about having his hand on someone else's cock. 

Boyd makes some kind of noise when he touches him, one that sounds desperate, but also sort of terrified. Like he can't believe how good eternal damnation could feel. It's the most arousing sound Raylan can ever remember hearing. 

He jerks Boyd's cock, though it feels a little awkward doing it backwards, and ruts up against him. 

"Oh God, Raylan... I can't believe you're... Jesus, fuck..." Boyd is moaning and kissing him and trying to talk all at once. 

"Ssh, wait, just... oh, fuck..." Raylan is again reminded of being in high school as he feels himself near an orgasm without anyone even touching him. This is too new, too strange, too fucking hot for much control. 

"Don't hold off on my account. I'm about to... Raylan-"

"Touch me. Boyd, come on."

"Okay, yeah. Oh, God."

Raylan feels his hand, with its strong fingers and callouses, saw it in his mind's eye, holding his dick. He has just enough time to think, _What the fuck? Why now and not before?_ , before he starts to go over, and he feels Boyd do the same. 

They cling tight until it's over, and then slowly release each other. Raylan doesn't know where to look. He swings his feet onto the floor, pulls his underwear on and starts to get up, but Boyd's voice, almost panicky, stops him.

"Raylan, wait. I didn't mean for any of that-"

"Jesus, Boyd, I know. Neither did I. I don't know what that was."

Raylan stands up, but hangs in the doorway for a minute. He has no idea what to say or do. Finally Boyd takes a breath and speaks. 

"Okay. Well, thanks for..." Boyd laughs, a little helplessly, "thanks for checking on me."

Raylan laughs a little too, at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. "I guess you already thanked me enough," he says, then goes back to the sofa to try to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd deal with what happened in somewhat different ways.

The next morning, Raylan wakes and walks down to Johnny’s house on his own. Boyd is still in his room, though Raylan doesn't know if he's sleeping or hiding. 

He is very carefully not thinking of what had happened the night before, relegating that to the part of his brain that stores anomalies, like that one time when he was a kid that Arlo took him fishing and didn't get drunk or call him loser, or the rare occasions when a woman turned him down. He assumes Boyd is doing the same.

A skinny brunette answers the door, wearing cut-offs and one of Johnny's flannel shirts, blinking like she hadn't seen the sun in days. She looks him up and down, smiles at him like women usually do, and says, "You lookin' for Johnny?"

Raylan nods once and says, "Yes ma'am, is he here?"

She grins, then calls back into the darkened house, "Yeah, babe, it's the Marshal, like you thought."

Johnny comes to the door in a bathrobe and sweatpants, wearing his customary scowl. Or at least, Raylan assumes it's his usual expression, as it's pretty much the only one he ever sees.

"Why are you still here? Don't you have shit to attend to in Lexington?"

"Well," Raylan says lightly, "you might say that's the question of the day.”

Johnny purses his lips and glares at Raylan, which was par for the course, then says, “Fine. Let’s talk.” He stands aside and lets Raylan in, then leads him to the kitchen and gestures at the table. The woman who had answered the door is hanging around and he waves her off. Johnny lights a cigarette and looks at Raylan neutrally, waiting for him to speak. 

“Well, Johnny, it occurs to me that I may not have a great deal drawing me back to Lexington. I’ve been _pondering_ , you see. I’m not accustomed to doing a great deal of that, so it’s been a bit of a process.”

“Just cut the shit, will you? Just tell me what you got in mind.”

“You need someone keepin’ the peace around here. I know this is Harlan, and you think the law ain’t something you need, but you’re wrong. You got no law, people are gonna think they can do what they like here.”

“This is our town, Givens. Our county. We ain’t looking for anyone to come in and tell us what we can’t do.”

“Well, then I believe we’re in agreement. Look, Johnny, I know this is a new world, and I’m not so goddamn stubborn that I can’t adapt. I won’t work for you... but I can work with you.”

“Why?” Johnny looks suspicious, but that's fine. Raylan would think it strange if he didn't.

“Lexington is fucked," he responds. "Things are better here, quieter.”

“Ain't you got a woman back there?”

“There’s a woman, but she ain’t really mine. There’s women here, too.”

“Not that many unattached, these days. Seems like they’ve gotten a little less independent lately." Johnny says this with a measure of grim satisfaction.

“Yeah, well. I don’t see myself having a whole lot of trouble in that area, do you? For a variety of reasons.” He grins loosely at him, leaning back.

“Jesus Christ, Givens. There's confidence, and there's being a fucking dick. Didn't nobody ever teach you the difference?"

Raylan just smirks at him, despite knowing it was not charming him in the least. 

"You speak to Boyd about this yet?" Johnny asks.

"What do you think?"

Johnny nods, then rubs a hand across his face. "Lemme think on this. I'll be by later. You'll be at Boyd's place, I presume?" 

Raylan feels a jolt in his stomach. Johnny's voice holds no more sneering suspicion than usual, but it had always been funny to him before. He'd never understood what Johnny thought he was seeing between himself and Boyd, but now he has to wonder. What does he see? 

"Yeah, I'll be there," he says, though he's unsure for how long. He doesn't know if Boyd will want him hanging around now. He doesn't know if he'll want to either. 

When he gets back to the house, Boyd is nowhere to be found. His truck is gone too. Raylan pulls a paperback from a stack on the sideboard and sits down in the lawn chair on the porch to wait. 

Boyd pulls up about an hour later, truck emptied of the contents of the second bedroom, but containing a mattress, box spring and metal bed frame. Raylan walks over, and they move the bed into the house without saying much more than "hey," and "a little bit to your left."

When they've gotten it put together, Boyd sits down on the edge of the bed and looks down at the floor like he's trying to work up the nerve to say something. Raylan just stands there, looking at the sparse room; besides the bed, there's a dresser and one nightstand that they'd kept from the packed room. 

Finally Boyd speaks, still looking down. "Raylan, if you don't want to stay here, I would completely understand. I been thinking... I can't stay at Ava's, but there's no reason it should sit empty or get filled up with squatters. You could go there."

"Is that what you want me to do? Why'd you bring the bed, then?"

Boyd glances up quickly, then back down. "I wanted to give you the choice. I don't... I told you, I don't like the quiet. It's been good having you here. But..."

"Boyd, that was all my fault. It was. I thought about it, and I owe you an apology. You just suffered a terrible loss, and I wasn't thinking of that, I just... I have no excuse, but I feel like I took advantage. It just snuck up on me, all of a sudden. Out of..."

"Out of nowhere, yeah, I know. You don't owe me shit, Raylan. I knew what I was doing. I _wanted_ it." He shakes his head, then looks at Raylan with a helplessly honest expression. "It even made me feel better, for a minute. It was so different, but almost... shit. Never mind. It's weird talking about it."

"Yeah," Raylan says, distracted. He's looking at Boyd's hands, which are resting in his lap. They're more familiar than he thinks they should be, as if he'd been studying them for years. It's like the way he'd noticed Boyd's smell - he hadn't been aware of being aware, but he obviously had been. For how long?

He realizes he's been quiet for a little too long, and he looks up to see Boyd watching him curiously. Raylan shakes his head, like he needs to deny something, but it feels like he's lying. It doesn't matter, because Boyd is looking at him like he doesn't believe him anyway. 

He knows what's going to happen. He can feel it, and he's more than a little bit afraid of it, but he wants it more than he's afraid. It seems like something else entirely than what had happened the night before. That had just happened. This is a choice. There would be no excusing it away.

Boyd blinks a bunch of times, like he's shaking something off, then he stands up suddenly. He walks out, and Raylan hears the screen door slam behind him as he walks outside. Raylan knows he should feel relieved, but mostly, at that moment, he feels disappointed. Maybe the relief will come later.

 

Raylan stays inside for a long time, lying back on the bare mattress and thinking about what he should do. He still has to talk to Art about his decision to stay here, and he’d have to bring the car back to Lexington. Boyd could follow in his truck and drive him back, he supposes. He knows it's going to look bad. He’ll have to find a way to make him believe, or at least be willing to suspend his disbelief, that Boyd had nothing to do with the explosion, and that the gang had just moved on. 

He doesn't know what to do about this thing with Boyd. He’d woken up thinking that, whatever it was, they must have gotten it out of their systems. Or he had, anyway. He hadn’t been thinking at all of the possibility it could happen again, until he’d heard Boyd say, “I _wanted _it,” and then he’d looked at Boyd’s hands.__

__Raylan heaves a huge sigh and swings his feet to the floor. He knows he needs to get a grip. He walks outside to find Boyd on the front porch._ _

__Boyd looks up when Raylan comes out, and Raylan is surprised to see that it betrays none of the discomfort he’d expected, that he's certain is displayed on his own face. Boyd gives a funny smile and says, “I was thinking I’d like some eggs for supper. You want to come with me to get some?”_ _

__“Eggs?" Raylan lifts his eyebrows in amusement. "Yeah, sure. Should we run down to Wal Mart? We could pick up some milk while we’re at it. Some chips and dip.”_ _

__Boyd laughs and says, “Come on, I’ll show you.” He disappears into the house for a minute and comes back with a small gym bag. “Let’s go.”_ _

__They walk a ways down the holler road, then split off onto a long dirt drive. After a half mile or so, they come to a farmhouse, and he can see two people in big hats, working in a field. Boyd waves, and one of them comes walking into the yard. It's a woman, a few years older than them, in her late 40s. She has a slightly hard look, born of working outdoors, and whatever hardships and sorrow she might have faced in her years. Nevertheless, she was rather beautiful, with a strong but fine shape to her face, and mossy green eyes. Her long hair had been red, and curly, though it was streaked with plenty of gray now._ _

__She gives Boyd a warm smile, and says, “Well, Boyd Crowder. I ain’t seen you in quite some time. I am so sorry for your loss.”_ _

__“Well... thank you.” He nods. “We’ve all lost someone or something by now.”_ _

__She nods, then looks at Raylan. He’d been watching her, trying to figure out how he knows her. Her face is familiar, but he can't recall her name. He’d glanced out at the field again while she and Boyd were talking, and then it hit him. Her name is Nancy, he thinks, and she’d been friendly with Helen. He thinks he might have seen her at Helen’s house once or twice, and he had been told her story._ _

__Her husband had died when he was quite young, in the mine. Not a collapse, but a freak accident involving a malfunctioning piece of machinery. They’d been running a struggling small farm, and he’d been taking hours at the mine to make ends meet. When he died, a friend of hers moved in to help out, and they’d been working that farm together for a couple years already, even when Raylan was in high school. She must be older than she looks, then, in her 50s._ _

__He realizes now, what the relationship with her friend must be, if they were still here together after all this time. He hadn’t given it any thought back then, and he’d never heard rumors or whispers about them. Maybe it was because she was a widow, and people felt sorry for her. And then, he supposed, people just got used to it._ _

__She smiles at him and said, “Well now, there’s an old familiar face. Still prettier than you need to be, I see, Raylan Givens.”_ _

__Boyd snorts and Raylan sighs. No wonder she and Helen had gotten along. He says, “It’s good to see you again, Ms... I’m sorry, I remember your name is Nancy, but...”_ _

__“Well, then you just go ahead and call me Nancy. You mighta been a boy the last time I saw you, but you certainly ain’t now.”_ _

__"All right, Nancy then. I think we're here looking for some eggs."_ _

__"Well, we got 'em. Also some tomatoes, onions, peppers."_ _

__Boyd takes the bag from his shoulder and holds it out, saying, "I got some batteries to trade."_ _

__"Well," she says, "I can always use those, but today what I need most of all is some help around here. We got a lot to harvest, it's all coming ready at once, and I can't have it spoiling in the field."_ _

__Boyd looks over at Raylan, and he shrugs. "Well, looks like you got a deal."_ _

__They work for about two hours. Nancy's friend Kathleen, a slightly plump woman of about Nancy's age, with a sweet, round face, directs them to what needs to get done first. It had been just past midday when they'd arrived, and the sun is still high and hot._ _

__Kathleen makes conversation while they work, asking Raylan about where he’d been since he’d first left Harlan, and what he's doing back here now. He doesn't have much to say about that last question - all he can come up with is that there's nothing left for him in Lexington, and that Harlan is, for better or worse, home._ _

__When they finish, the women invite them in, give them water and some bean and corn salad, and ask Boyd to keep an ear out for flour. Nancy says she'd trade just about anything for that._ _

__They leave with six eggs, some vegetables and a few peaches the women had gotten in trade from someone who has a small orchard. Both ladies tell them to come back anytime they want work, or to trade, and Raylan is sure he caught Kathleen glancing between them, wondering. What is it that people are seeing when they look at them? Who else might have wondered?_ _

__They start walking back as the sun finally abates a little bit. It's still fucking hot, though, and Raylan is beat. He says, "I don't know why I never realized about them two. I wonder why no one ever talked about them."_ _

__Boyd keeps his eyes straight ahead, and after a few seconds of thought, he says, "Well, really, what do we know about them, anyway? We know they're friends, and that they help each other. Whatever else there might be between them, I think that's for them to know. Ain't nobody's business but theirs. And really... it ain't the important part. That's not what kept them there for nearly thirty years."_ _

__Raylan stares at him, then says, "What are you trying to say, Boyd?"_ _

__Boyd doesn't turn his head, but Raylan is sure he detects a faint smirk when Boyd answers, "I ain't trying to say anything, Raylan. I was talking about Nancy and Kathleen. What are you thinking about?"_ _

__

__Raylan shakes his head and doesn't say a word the rest of the way back. When they reach the cabin, Raylan goes to his car and radios in to Art. He tells him he'll be back the next morning, and leaves it at that. He sits in the driver's seat for a bit, just staring into space._ _

__Everything feels so strange. The world is screwed, Raylan is back in Harlan, and somehow he can't think of anything else at the moment except Boyd Crowder's hands on him. Things are moving and changing so quickly, he feels like he needs to put the brakes on, get some perspective._ _

__He returns to the house to find Boyd in the kitchen, at the sink, looking out the window. Raylan comes in awkwardly, sits down at the table, and Boyd turns around._ _

__"What are we doing, Raylan?" he asks quietly. "What the fuck is going on?"_ _

__Raylan shakes his head slowly and says, "I don't know either. I can't get a handle on it. I think... maybe I should go."_ _

__Boyd frowns at him. "Go where? Back?"_ _

__Raylan nods, not looking at him. "I need to be sure, Boyd. I'm- I'm confused." He winces at the word choice. He sounds like a goddamn after school special._ _

__Boyd nods. He probably understands the feeling. "Alright. Jamie Mercer's got a ham radio setup, you can contact him when you want to get word to me."_ _

__

__Raylan stands and takes a step towards him. "Boyd, I-"_ _

__

__"There ain't nothing you can say that's gonna make either of us feel better or less fucked up about this, Raylan. You're right, you should go."_ _

__

__"That mean you want me to stay gone for good? I will, you tell me so."_ _

__

__Boyd doesn't answer, and Raylan stands there for a bit, then nods awkwardly and walks out. He grabs his bag, then sits down on the bed that Boyd had brought him. He'd gone out and gotten it after only two days, even after that crazy thing had happened between them. Boyd had still wanted him here, was willing to put aside the weirdness. Raylan wonders, suddenly, where the bed came from._ _

__He hears a noise at the door and looks up. It's Boyd, and he looks very uncomfortable, but says, "Raylan, you're always welcome here. You're leaving by your own choice, I ain't pushing you out. But if you're going, go now. It'll be getting dark and you shouldn't be out on the roads."_ _

__

__"Right," Raylan says, standing up. Boyd moves from the doorway so he can get through, and Raylan brushes him with his arm as he passes. He simply cannot account for the thrill that runs from the place of contact, straight to his gut, then to his groin. He glances at Boyd, and sees the same on his face. He needs to get out of there._ _

__

__"I'll- I'll see you, Boyd. I'll be in touch."_ _

__

__"Thank you for your help, Raylan." Raylan frowns, confused, and he clarifies, "On the roof."_ _

__

__"Yeah," Raylan replies, "No problem."_ _


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan returns to Lexington and finds it difficult to escape.

Raylan drives back pretty fast; there's not a lot of traffic on the road these days, in fact he only passes one car the whole way, until he reaches the suburbs outside of Lexington. 

 

He gets back to his apartment just as the sun is setting, and when he gets inside he feels as if he's entering an abandoned place. It feels strange, empty. He digs the half-filled bottle of Crown Royal that he traded for last month out of the back of his kitchen cabinet. He's been rationing it out, because it's really not in his budget, but he thinks he might just polish it off tonight. 

 

Raylan feels Harlan slipping away already, and the events of the past few days are taking on a sort of sepia quality in his mind. What the hell happened there? His mind sends him flashes, moments - sitting up on the roof with Boyd, watching him hammer in new shingles, fishing with him, Boyd casting his line over the shaded pond, Boyd's eyes flashing at him in the dark. 

 

He grimaces and takes another drink. This can't be real. Whatever reaction the two of them had to each other must have had to do with... trauma, a shared past, maybe even their connection through Ava. 

 

The more he thinks about it, the more sense this makes to him. Boyd had loved Ava. Raylan- well, he had never loved her, but he certainly had wanted her. And he'd been sad as hell to hear she'd died. So maybe... but he hadn't been thinking about her that night, he can't say that he had. 

 

And he isn't thinking about her now. It's not her that he's seeing in his mind's eye, hovering over him, kissing him. It's not her that's making his dick hard right now, but it makes no sense. It was never that, between them, whatever Johnny might have thought. 

 

The apartment is warm, and the air is stale after being shut up for days. Raylan gets up suddenly and stalks over to the window, throwing it open almost violently. 

 

It's late May, and the temperature is beautiful, but the air smells like smoke and rot. Due to the gas shortage, garbage collection has been reduced to a monthly pickup, and trash-burning has become a regular practice in certain abandoned lots. It's illegal, but the city turns a blind eye, because the alternative is being overrun with filth. 

 

He decides he'd rather sweat, and closes the window. 

 

In Harlan, the air had still smelled... not sweet, exactly, but like air, at least. He longs to be back there. He should have just gone in the morning and had Boyd follow in his truck, like he'd originally planned, instead of running away like he had the damn devil at his back. 

 

Boyd probably thinks he's pissed now, and that's the last thing Raylan wants. It wasn't Boyd's fault. No matter what he'd said about wanting it, he'd been vulnerable. And the next day, when Raylan couldn't stop staring at his fucking hands - thank god Boyd had been thinking clearly, had gotten up and left the room. Raylan had been seconds from kissing him again. 

 

He groans in frustration. He can't understand this at all. And he's hard, but he's not about to touch himself when he knows goddamn well where his mind will go, and he won't be able to help it. It's too late to go over to Winona's, she'd be pissed, and the state he's in, he's not even sure he wouldn't be thinking about Boyd even if he was fucking her. 

 

He drinks enough to be able fall asleep, but he sleeps fitfully, in and out of troubling dreams that he can't quite remember. He feels like shit in the morning, but is more than ready to get out of bed. 

 

Raylan gets to the office early, wanting to get things settled with Art. He doesn't know what he's going to say. His decision doesn't even make that much sense to himself anymore. It seems crazy, impulsive. 

 

Art is already behind his desk when Raylan arrives, and he looks relieved to see him. 

 

"Jesus, Raylan. I thought either someone had kidnapped you, or you decided to go native down there."

 

"Well, technically speaking, I am a native," Raylan says, feeling extremely uncomfortable now. "Listen, Art, there ain't shit on Boyd Crowder with regards to this gang. It's possible they got themselves blown up out at that mine, but I can't prove Boyd did it. I don't think we want to be spending much more time on it, Lexington being what it is now. You know before long we're just gonna have to leave Harlan to Harlan, anyway. We ain't got the resources."

 

Art's looking at him like he doesn't know who the hell he is, but fuck it. He's right. Art had said this isn't the old west, but he wasn't entirely correct. Frontier justice has its place in a world like this. 

 

The problem now is that his announcement would be automatically suspect, which of course it is. He can't basically make excuses for Boyd's vigilante murders, then turn around and say, "By the way, I'm moving down there to live with him. Oh, and we might have started up some kind of latent homosexual relationship, not sure what that's all about..." 

 

Raylan is very close to letting out a hysterical bark of laughter, but he gets it under control at the last second. He goes back to his own desk and sits, rubbing his face and trying to get things sorted out. 

 

Less than ten minutes later, the scanner blows up, calls are coming all over the airwaves, and the Marshals - including Art - are grabbing vests and arming themselves. There's been a breakout at Eastern Kentucky, the guards have been overrun, and all hell is breaking loose. 

 

The prison system took a crippling hit after the loss of electricity. They ran on generators for awhile, but everyone knew that wasn't sustainable. They had judges and elected officials working long hours, reviewing cases and deciding who among the incarcerated might be reasonably released. 

 

Drug possession charges, drug dealing offenses on the street level, small-time theft with no violence, and people with a year or less left on their sentences were the first people to be released. Later, as supplies began to dwindle, and it became more difficult to maintain a guard staff, they expanded that to people with certain manslaughter charges, and who the hell knows what else by this time. Most of the prisoners left by this point are violent offenders, though not all of them. 

 

By the time the Marshals arrive on the scene, everything is fucked beyond belief. For awhile, the guards and some state troopers had managed to contain most of the escapees behind barricades, but these were deteriorating quickly. Two of the guards and a trooper had already been killed. 

 

The National Guard had responded as well, and they're coordinating the effort from the various agencies. 

 

They've been in the middle of this clusterfuck for about ten minutes, when the order comes down to shoot to kill any prisoner attempting to escape. These are violent felons, rapists, multiple murderers, and these people cannot be allowed to walk free. 

 

The problem, of course, is that there are also twenty year old men who'd been imprisoned for fucking their fifteen year old girlfriends; there are men who drank too much and got behind a wheel, killed someone; there are men who robbed banks and jewelry stores, but never killed anyone in the process. All varying degrees of scumbag, all deserving a prison sentence of some kind, but none really deserving being mowed down like wild dogs in the street. 

 

"Are you fucking kidding me, Art?" Raylan is staring at him. Rachel is too, but Tim is setting up his gear. 

 

"Those are the orders, son. You don't like it, I don't like it, doesn't matter."

 

"Fuck," Raylan growls. 

 

Prisoners are overtaking the barricades now, it's utter chaos. Raylan takes careful aim and shoots, puts a man down. Then another. Before long, the ground is littered with them, and Raylan is no longer sure how many he killed. Many surrendered when they realized what was happening, lying down on the ground, but enough decided they'd rather risk death to chance freedom. 

 

On the ride back to the office, no one says a word. It's the worst thing Raylan has ever had to do, has ever been a part of. All of his shootings, even Boyd, made sense to him. This thing today, this was just slaughter. 

 

Rachel's hands are shaking, and she's blinking way too much. 

 

Tim is eerily calm, looking alert as usual, behaving as if this didn't affect him. He's probably pretending this was war. But that's bullshit. They were unarmed Americans. 

 

Art still keeps a bottle in his desk, but he doesn't haul it out nearly as casually as he once did. When they return to the office, he pulls it out, along with four glasses.

 

Rachel is the first to speak. She sips at the bourbon, grimacing like she's not used to straight booze. "Is this what we're doing, now? Are we just guns?" Her voice comes out feathery, and there's a helpless anger behind it.

 

"We go where we're needed," Art says. "Shooting escaping prisoners ain't anything new."

 

Rachel shakes her head, her mouth in a straight line. Raylan feels like he should be that angry. Nothing felt right about what they did today, but he can't seem to access that caliber of emotion. 

 

He has two drinks, and would have had more, but he suddenly gets the idea that there's something that will help him more. Something he needs, and he says he has to go. Art frowns at him, but Raylan puts on what he believes is an appropriate expression and says, "I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

 

He gets on a bus - his usual mode of transport these days when he can't walk, like everyone else - and takes it to Winona's place. By the time he gets there, he's managed to convince himself that this not only will actually make him feel better, but that he has the right to ask this of her, to put this on her. 

 

He rings her doorbell, then leans against the post on her porch. As the door opens, he lets a smile begin to creep onto his face, one he knows usually works on her. It falls off immediately when he comes face to face with a handsome, dark-haired guy with a beard, probably a few years younger than himself.

 

"Hi," the man says awkwardly, "Are you Raylan?"

 

Raylan closes his eyes briefly and lets out a little sigh. "Yep." He doesn't know what else to say, can't find any words to make this less than excruciating. 

 

"I'll get Winona. She doesn't like to answer the door at night." He holds out a hand and adds, "I'm Bryce, by the way."

 

Raylan shakes his hand, then says, "I can come back."

 

Bryce shrugs. "No need," he replies, just as Winona appears beside him. He disappears back into the house, leaving them alone on the porch.

 

"Raylan," she says, looking worried. "You look terrible. I heard about the prison. Were you-"

 

Raylan is shaking his head. "I'm fine, Winona. I just came by to say hi. I didn't realize."

 

"It's okay. You can come in. I'll get you a drink, we can talk. Just you and me, I'll ask Bryce to-"

 

" _No._ No. I gotta go." He turns to leave, but she grabs a bit of fabric on his sleeve. 

 

"I never know when you'll be coming by, Raylan. I'm sorry, I just-"

 

He smiles at her, and he knows it's ugly, and he can tell it scares her, but he doesn't intend that. "You didn't do nothing wrong. I shouldn't have come. He's- he's taking care of you?"

 

She nods, still frowning, still scared. 

 

"That's alright, then," he says. "I might not be around anymore. I'm thinking of getting out of here. Lexington."

 

"Where?" she asks in a whisper. 

 

Raylan just shrugs. "You'll be okay," he says, more to himself than to her. He realizes he feels relief more than anything else, and that makes him feel empty. 

 

"Raylan-" she starts, but he doesn't want to hear what he has to say. He cuts her off by pressing a kiss to her mouth, then turns and walks away. She lets him go.

 

Every day, for the next few weeks, he gets up thinking he's going to tell Art he's leaving, he's going to pack up some shit and send word to... to Harlan. Then he gets to work, and there's always some kind of distraction, something that needs doing. 

He drinks at night, but not nearly as much as he would have, in the old world. Not nearly as much as he'd like to be drinking in this new, fucked up world, with the stench of burning garbage always in his sinuses. And the people - that's the worst part. Everyone looks stunned, still, and it pisses him off. 

 

He loses track of the days, just keeps coming into work, even on the weekends, even when he doesn't need to be there. It's not like he has someplace better to be. There are no movies playing at the multiplex now, and anyway, there's more work than there are hours in a week. They all do it, and it has ceased to seem like anything strange.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan feels paralyzed, but all he needs is to be reminded of where he's needed.

Raylan thinks it might be a Wednesday, though he's not sure. He's sitting on the edge of Tim's desk, discussing an upcoming security detail they'll both be on. It's pouring rain outside, hammering on the roof, and a cold gust of wet air blows in when the door opens. 

 

Raylan stands slowly as he takes in the sight of Boyd Crowder, soaking wet, pale, his eyes looking somehow even more haunted than they had the day Raylan came to Harlan. Raylan has a sudden shock as he realizes that was almost a month ago. He hadn't meant to leave it that long. 

 

He walks over to Boyd and takes him by the arm, pulling him, hopefully, out of earshot of Tim. "Boyd," he rasps, "what are you doing here?"

 

"Raylan," he says, almost sounding surprised, "I- you never sent any word. I heard about the prison break, I thought maybe you... I'm glad you're alright."

 

Raylan's stomach sinks. He hates the feeling of discovering after the fact that he's been an asshole. "Shit has been crazy around here, Boyd," he says, knowing full well how defensive and stupid that sounds. 

 

"Raylan," he says, and only then does Raylan notice that he's shaking, a little. Shivering from the cold, probably. "Why are you still here?" 

 

"I don't- the prison thing went down, and I- I just-" He shakes his head, because he doesn't have a reason to give. 

 

"This city smells of death, Raylan," Boyd says  
quietly. "How can you stand it? You don't belong here. It's time to come home."

 

"Home?"

 

Boyd is looking into his eyes, and it feels like he can see everything in his mind, probably more than Raylan himself can see.

 

Boyd's voice is excruciatingly honest as he says, "I have not been doing so well since you left." 

 

Raylan can see that. There are dark circles around his eyes, and he looks too thin. "I'm sorry. My head ain't been right. I forgot what I was supposed to be doing." 

 

Boyd smiles very faintly. "Nobody's head's been right for some time. But you're needed at home now. I came to get you. Will you come?"

 

Raylan feels like a fog has suddenly cleared, and he can see everything. He can't understand how he let so much time pass. He's needed. He nods. "Yeah. Yeah, just," he smiles, and it feels strange on his face, "gimme a minute".

 

He turns around to head back to Art's office, and he sees Tim staring at him, at Boyd. He can't imagine what to tell him, so he just walks past. 

 

He removes his badge and gun carefully as he enters the room. Art is watching him silently, frowning, but not too surprised. He lays them on Art's desk.

 

"I have to go," he says. 

 

"Raylan," Art says slowly, "I know things have been rough lately. I know you're going through some bad shit."

 

Raylan shakes his head. "No more than anyone else. But I can't be here anymore. I'm going home."

 

Art's eyes narrow, and he says, "What do you mean, home?"

 

"Home. Harlan. I'm- I'm needed."

 

He turns and walks out. Art stands and follows him as he goes to where Boyd is standing, waiting. 

 

"Raylan, just what the hell is going on here?" Art sounds, for a moment, like his old self, cranky and disbelieving. "What is he doing here?"

 

There's no reasonable answer to give, not one that makes any sense, so he just says, "He's my ride. I gotta go. I'm sorry." He looks at Boyd, then puts a hand to his shoulder and pushes him toward the door. 

 

The truck is right out front, but the rain is coming down so fast that he's drenched by the time they get inside. He's breathing fast, adrenaline pumped up as if he's being pursued, but when he looks back, no one is there. No one came after him. 

 

Boyd starts the engine, cranking up the heat as they shiver in their seats. They look at each other, and Raylan can't imagine that he'd never wanted to touch him before. It's all he wants now, can barely keep himself from reaching out for him. 

 

He curls his hands into fists and looks away, biting down on his lower lip, hard enough to taste blood. 

 

"Where's your place?" Boyd asks. "You can pack a bag, get whatever you think you need." 

 

Raylan gives him directions, staring out the windshield at the streets, like he's seeing it for the first time in awhile. 

 

Boyd parks on the street outside his building, and follows him up the stairs to his apartment. When they get inside, Raylan looks around the dreary little place, wondering what the hell kept him here all this time. He doesn't know what he was waiting for. 

 

"There's some cans of food and a little left in a bottle of Jack in the kitchen," he tells Boyd. You want to grab that shit while I get my clothes?"

 

Boyd hesitates, then nods, but doesn't move yet. Raylan doesn't either. Then they both do, but towards each other instead of away, pressing themselves close in their wet clothes, and it feels warm where they're touching. Raylan takes Boyd's face in his hands and they kiss. It's not like that night. It doesn't feel strange, even though it probably should.

 

He steps back suddenly. He doesn't want to, but this still doesn't make any sense. It can't be right. Boyd puts the back of his hand to his mouth, then turns and walks into the kitchen. Raylan goes to his room and takes out his suitcase, starts throwing clothes into it. He stops and stares around the room, trying to think of what else he needs to take, what still needs to be done before he can go. 

 

He can't think right anymore. All the clarity he felt back at the office, when Boyd told him he was taking him home, has drained away. The fog is back, and it feels heavier than ever. He shakes his head, but it won't clear. 

 

He hears something behind him, footsteps, and has a second of absolute terror before he remembers that it's Boyd. He feels a hand on his arm, fingers wrapping around and sliding down to his wrist, pulling him around. 

 

"Raylan," he says, "just sit down."

 

He's so relieved to be given a direction that he obeys meekly, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. "I can't hold a thought, Boyd." 

 

"I know," Boyd replies, sitting next to him, carefully leaving just enough room so their bodies aren't touching. Raylan is glad he's not further away than that. He thinks that would feel terrible. "You were at that prison break?"

 

Raylan nods, squeezing his eyes shut against the images that want to crowd in. He hasn't spoken of it since the night it happened.

"You had to do things you didn't think were right," Boyd continues, speaking softly.

 

"I did them. I didn't have to. I could have refused. I should have been gone already."

 

Boyd sighs and reaches out with a slightly shaky, but warm and solid hand, and lays it on his back. "You think I don't know what it is to be caught up in something? To start out thinking something is right, and you're in control of it, only to have it get away from you?"

 

"I can't tell what's right, or even what's real anymore. My head don't feel properly connected to my body."

 

Boyd only has to lean over a fraction of an inch for their shoulders to make contact, and he does. "What if that don't signify? What if- what if we could just let ourselves do what we feel instead of worrying all the time about what it means?"

 

Raylan pulls in a quick, shallow breath, and answers him. "Then, I suppose, I never would have come back here in the first place. I don't think I've slept more than two hours at a time since I did."

 

"I haven't been sleeping either. Maybe we should try to do that before we go back. Just- just sleep. I'm tired, Raylan."

 

Raylan nods, and awkwardly begins to unbutton his shirt. "You want something to put on? Your clothes are wet," he tells him, like he doesn't know.

 

"Sure. Thanks."

 

He finds something for him, pants that hardly want to stay up over his skinny ass, and a clean undershirt. They get into bed and sit there for a few moments. 

 

"I know it's weird, Raylan. But it ain't no weirder than anything else that's going on, and it's a hell of a lot better. We can talk about all this later, if we want to."

 

Raylan slips down into the covers and lets Boyd reach for him, slide in close and wrap an arm around him. They're lying face to face, and he wants to turn over, not to look at him, because he's not in control of his expressions at the moment. Boyd holds tight and won't let him move, so he closes his eyes and settles into his neck, and it feels like where he's supposed to be. He's asleep in no more than a minute.

 

He dreams about Boyd, which makes sense to him, even in his dream state. It's strangely lucid, and he almost decides where to go, though his conscious mind would never have chosen this. He's in the mine, down in the black, alone with Boyd. Raylan doesn't feel young, but Boyd is. 

 

It must be early on, because it's just the two of them down there, chipping away at a spent mine. It's how they started out down there. Boyd looks up at him, puts his pick down and makes a slicing gesture across his throat, so Raylan puts his down too. 

 

Raylan can hear a rumbling, and he knows they should run, but Boyd doesn't make a move, or even look afraid. He smiles and says, "No one will come down here now. It's too dangerous." Then he walks forward and pushes him up against the wall, kissing him in no particular hurry as the noise grows louder, and the ground shakes. 

 

Raylan knows he should feel afraid, but Boyd isn't, so he figures there must not be anything to worry about. He just keeps on kissing him, and Raylan wants more. He wants to take their clothes off, he wants to-

 

"Raylan," Boyd is saying, very close to his ear. The loud noise is still there, and he realizes it's garbage day. He can hear the shouts of the workers now, and he becomes aware of being pressed very close to Boyd. _Shit._ He's fairly sure he was doing... something in his sleep. 

 

"Sorry," he says, "I didn't mean- I was dreaming." He starts to disentangle himself, but Boyd pulls him in again. 

 

"What are you sorry for? Humping my leg?" He looks amused, and Raylan can't look at him anymore. "Does it feel like I'm mad about it?"

 

Oh. 

 

"What was the dream?" Boyd asks, hooking a leg over his knee.

 

Raylan pulls away a little and asks, "What time is it, anyway?" He lifts his head up to peer over Boyd's shoulder at the clock. It's hard to know exactly what time it is these days, though an official time is kept by a bank downtown. It's later than he would have thought, though, almost three-thirty. They'd been asleep for close to four hours. 

 

Boyd lets him go and flops onto his back with a small huff of resignation. "I suppose we should get moving if we're gonna make it home before dark."

 

Raylan gets up and finishes his packing. He does feel better now, clearer. He must have needed the sleep more than he knew. 

 

Once they're on the road, Boyd says, "I said we could talk about things. Car's a good place to talk."

 

Raylan snorts and replies, "Yeah. That's 'cause you don't have to look at each other."

 

"Right. So. You want to?"

 

"Not especially."

 

Boyd waits a bit before saying, "You want to ask me anything?" 

 

Raylan glances at him quickly, then looks away. He can't think of a question he's not afraid to hear the answer to. Finally, he says, "I was dreaming about robbin' mines with you. You ever think about that?"

 

Boyd shrugs, his hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. "Sometimes. But what the hell was it about a mine dream that got you in such a state?"

 

"You," Raylan says, then looks out the side window. 

 

Boyd doesn't respond for a long time. At least twenty minutes pass before he says, "Back then, did you-"

 

"No. I- I didn't think so. But now I don't know." He looks over at Boyd now, studies his profile as he drives. "It's hard to remember now."

 

Boyd laughs and shakes his head. "No, it ain't. Something like that, you got to work at forgetting."

 

"Guess I did, then," Raylan says. "You didn't? Or.. did you not..."

 

"It wasn't something I ever allowed myself to dwell upon. I didn't forget, but I thought it was gone. I thought it was just a... youthful fancy, hormones, some shit like that. I dismissed it. When you first came back from bein' away, when I saw you, when I-"

 

"When you hugged me," Raylan cuts in, wiping a hand across his face. "I felt that, but I was too pissed at you to recognize it."

 

Boyd goes quiet again, and Raylan thinks hard, tries to remember. Because he knows, it really doesn't make sense for this to be brand new. And it didn't actually feel that way when they fooled around, and it certainly didn't feel like it when they were in bed today, _cuddling_ , for fucks sake. 

 

Eventually, Raylan breaks the silence. "Thanks for coming to get me. I don't know how long it would've taken me."

 

"Took you twenty years, the last time."

 

Raylan sees no reason to respond to that. He doesn't even know why Boyd would try to bait him with it, at this point. Maybe just out of habit, wanting things to feel normal again. He's pretty sure they never will.

 

When they pull up to Boyd's house, just as the last of the light is fading from the cloudy sky, they find a truck parked out front and a lamp lit inside the house. 

 

"Johnny," Boyd says. "I didn't tell him I was going to get you."

 

Johnny is sitting on the living room sofa when they walk in. He eyes up Raylan, his eyes resting for a moment on the suitcase, which Raylan sets down next to himself. 

 

"You left before we came to any kind of agreement, Givens," Johnny says. "And yet it looks as if you think you're here to stay."

 

"I'm staying, whatever terms we may come to regarding my employment. Harlan's home."

 

Johnny laughs at him. "Bullshit. Since when? You're here for one reason, and that's him." He points at Boyd. "At least have the fuckin' balls to admit it. You two got something going on, it's goddamn obvious, always has been, and I'm sick of you both acting like I'm fuckin' stupid and can't see what's in front of my own eyes."

 

They both stare at him for a few seconds, then Boyd says, "Well now, Johnny, is that a question or an accusation?"

 

Johnny looks angry, and he says, "If he's supposed to be the law around these parts, how's that gonna look? Bad enough you fuckin' flaked out, then we we hire your faggot boyfriend as sheriff? Jesus Christ, Boyd."

 

Raylan is pinching the bridge of his nose. This is exactly what he does not want. This is the opposite of what Boyd said about doing what they feel and not thinking about what it means. Now they're being forced to think - and talk - about what it means. 

 

"I ain't anyone's boyfriend, Johnny," he says. "Boyd is a friend, pretty much the only one I have at this point, and just like everyone else now, we could both use a little help and a little company. And by the way, it ain't any of your goddamn business what Boyd does or doesn't do in the privacy of his own home."

 

That wasn't exactly a denial, which would not have felt right, but he also wasn't about to come out of some kind of closet he hadn't even been in. Just because he took some comfort with Boyd, just because, okay, he might have a long-standing attraction to this one guy... and possibly once in awhile he might _notice_ the occasional man, but not really in a sexual way. More like admiration, or... 

 

Anyway, they're not boyfriends. They're friends. Who, sure, gave each other hand jobs one time, and took a nap in each other's arms once, out of them both desperately needing sleep, but that's just helping each other out. That doesn't make them gay. Or bi. Well, maybe a little bit bi, there's no getting around that, really. It's not like he closed his eyes and thought about pussy while Boyd was touching him. It was Boyd he'd wanted. 

 

Boyd says, "Cousin Johnny, I greatly appreciate all your help during my bereavement, but I will no longer be needing your assistance. I'm back on my feet, and I have a _friend_ here to help me out now."

 

"You tryin' to screw me over, Boyd? You trying to take shit back that you gave up? I ain't about to roll over."

 

Boyd shakes his head and replies, "No such a thing. I'll continue to take my cut, of course, but no need for you to come over here and into my house, no need for you to be checking on me. I cannot deny I was on a bad course, possibly even heading towards suicide. I still ain't a hundred percent, but I'm better." 

 

Boyd glances at Raylan, then back at Johnny. "Would you seek to deny me what I need for my recovery? Do you begrudge me whatever companionship allows me to survive in this world? I think that shit is over. I think it's obsolete. I think, things being the way they are, we should all hang onto any pieces of driftwood we can find to keep ourselves afloat, and everyone should just keep their minds on their own affairs."

 

"Whatever, man, but you're acting like this is something new, like it's some kind of desperate end- of- the- world measure, when the two of you were _always_ like this. It's weird, goddamn it. It's weird being around it. It makes people uncomfortable."

 

"It won't," Raylan says. "It's different now." He's pretty sure that's true, that what might have made people uncomfortable was seeing something that they were never able to admit even to themselves. 

 

Boyd looks at him in surprise, then shrugs. "Anyway," he says to Johnny, "you can go. We didn't stop for no Arby's on the way. We're gonna eat dinner."

 

Johnny still looks pissed, and sort of disgusted, but he gets up to go anyway. He lets a scowl rest on Raylan for a few seconds, then says, "I'll be in touch." 

 

When he's gone, Boyd walks into the kitchen, and Raylan stows his bag in the second bedroom. Boyd has put some sheets and blankets, and a couple of pillows on the bed, and an oil lamp on the table beside it. Raylan smiles in a bemused way as he sits down, trying to get a grip on everything. 

 

They eat some soup from Raylan's stash, heated on a little butane stove. They don't talk much, and Raylan has to assume that Boyd is working on figuring out some of the same shit he is. For all he doesn't want to think about what anything means, or where it's going, it's hard not to wonder. 

 

When they've finished, sopping up the last of it with the heel of a loaf of bread that Boyd split between them - he got it from Kathleen after he managed to find some flour for her - Boyd says, "So, you want to watch TV, or should we play a little Xbox?"

 

Raylan sighs. "You know," he says, "that shit gets less funny all the time."

 

Boyd huffs a laugh and replies, "Yeah." He gets up and goes into his room for a minute, coming out with a beat up old guitar. "I ain't any good, and you don't want to hear me sing, I promise you. But what the fuck, I figure I got the whole apocalypse to improve."

 

Raylan grins and says, "Alright. You play some shitty guitar, and I'll do some shitty singing."

 

"Now we're talkin'," Boyd says. He pulls a mostly full jar of moonshine from a cabinet, opens it and sets it between them. 

 

They drink as they fumble through a little Neil Young, Raylan only about half-remembering the lyrics to "Harvest" and "Heart of Gold." Then they try "Guitar Town," by Steve Earle, and they're laughing too hard by the end of that one to go any further. 

 

"Man, we probably shouldn't quit our day jobs just yet," Boyd says.

 

"But I just did!" Raylan says, laughing maybe a little more than the line warrants. 

 

"Well, the competition has been severely curtailed," Boyd replies, "So there's that."

 

They laugh until it tapers off, then a semi-uncomfortable silence settles between them. Raylan breaks it by saying, "It's been a very strange day. Even in a long line of very fucking strange days."

 

"It has indeed," Boyd says, nodding, not looking away from him. 

 

Raylan gets up, hesitates, then asks, "You wanna, uh, you feel like staying at my place tonight?"

 

Boyd's face betrays nothing, neither eagerness nor refusal. He says, "I could," but he doesn't move.

 

Raylan walks toward him and holds a hand out. If Boyd doesn't take it, he's not sure what he'll do. There's no walking that back, no way to pretend his intentions were anything else. 

 

Boyd waits too long, and Raylan begins to panic, to pull his hand away, when he finally reaches out to grab it. Raylan lets out the breath he's been holding, and pulls hard on him as he stands, harder than he'd meant to, and Boyd ends up inches from him. 

 

"Why is it different now, Raylan?" he asks. 

 

"Because," Raylan says, "it's too late for lies, especially the ones I was telling myself. Don't neither of us have much left but each other, so we might as well have that."

 

Boyd kisses him then, hard and a little clumsy, which Raylan is sure is not his usual style. It's reassuring, lets him know that Boyd might be as nervous as he is, about this being something they're choosing, not something that just, somehow, happens to them. 

 

Boyd picks up the little lamp they were using and sort of pushes at him, trying to get him to turn around, so he does, and they make it into Raylan's room. Raylan takes him by the shoulders then and kisses him, takes the lamp from his hand and sets it down, and they sort of tumble onto the bed, pulling off boots and pushing clothing up and aside. 

 

Part of him still wants to think this is weird, wants to say it, even, to make it clear he's not comfortable, not used to this. But that's just another kind of lie, a wedge to keep in place that Boyd already kicked away when he came to get him. 

 

The truth, the barely acknowledged and hard to handle truth, is that this is something old, a seed long dormant in him, planted by or because of Boyd and which is now growing again, because Boyd is here, and wants him, and Raylan doesn't want to try to wish it away again. He couldn't if he wanted to, and he wouldn't even if he could. 

 

Boyd is kneeling up, taking off his shirt, and in the low light, Raylan sees all the marks on him that he'd found so despicable - they were, and are - and the scar above his heart that Raylan himself placed there. He sees, but none of it matters. 

 

Their recent history, Boyd's past, all of that just feels like more lies and bullshit, which he's content to put behind them, if Boyd is. So he lets himself take it all in, and all he says is, "How come I didn't realize how sexy you were, Boyd?"

 

"Can't say," Boyd says, almost sounding distracted, "Seems to me it's pretty goddamn hard to miss."

 

Raylan gets himself undressed too, and shuts his brain off, tamps down the vague feeling of panic at being naked with another man, as if something's going to happen that's not exactly what he wants. 

 

Boyd reaches for him, and he moves forward, lets himself be pulled down onto Boyd. They're kissing, rutting up against each other, and he knows he wants something more to happen, but it's fucking intimidating if he's being honest.

 

"Okay, Raylan," Boyd pants after some time, "I'm gonna be a trailblazer here and try to suck your dick. I welcome feedback, but please be kind."

 

"Kind? You do remember who you're talking to, don't you?"

 

"Suit yourself," he replies, grinning. "But I doubt you're limber enough, at your advanced age, to get the job done yourself. So."

Raylan rolls off of him, and Boyd turns over on his stomach, looking down at Raylan's face for a moment. Raylan puts a hand to the side of his head, makes a little stroking motion with his thumb, and Boyd kisses him one more time. 

 

"Quit stallin'," Raylan says, because this is too close, there's more honesty between them than he can deal with. 

 

Boyd crawls down and bends his head awkwardly, mutters, "Here goes nothin'," and slides his mouth over Raylan's dick. 

 

It's sloppy, for sure - awkward, slightly painful at times, when Boyd doesn't quite know how to keep his teeth out of the way - but all things considered, Raylan thinks it's pretty goddamn great. It's still a blow job, first and foremost, and it's been awhile. 

 

It's also (and Raylan is not entirely unaware that this is sort of stupid and possibly insulting in some way to all of the women he's ever been with) extremely hot to think that his dick is the only one that has ever been in there. It more than makes up for what it lacks in skill, and he bucks his hips up into Boyd's throat, causing him to gag.

 

"Sorry," Raylan says, "'s just hot. I just... fuck, if you don't want me to come in your mouth you best pull off now."

 

Boyd lets out a muffled groan and squeezes his thigh, but doesn't do anything except move his head up and down a few more times over him, so Raylan lets go. Boyd hangs on, stays with him until it's over, then comes up grinning like he just won at the track. 

 

"Well?" Boyd says. 

 

"A for effort," Raylan replies. "I gotta take points off for teeth, but you get extra credit for swallowing."

 

"Shut the fuck up, Raylan," Boyd says, then kisses him. "Your turn."

 

Raylan nods and slides down the bed. Now that he's face to face with it, he can't escape the realization that Boyd definitely has a bigger dick than he does. He looks up at Boyd's face, and he's absolutely smirking. "Shut up," he tells him, then puts his mouth over it. 

 

It doesn't freak him out like he was afraid it might, but it does feel uncomfortable having it in his mouth. He knows, more or less, what feels good, but he can't seem to get his mouth to cooperate. He's afraid of getting him with his teeth - despite Boyd's lack of caution in that area - and it just doesn't feel like he's doing it right. 

 

He pulls off and strokes him a few times with his hand, then starts to go down again, but Boyd tugs on his hair. "Come up here," he says. 

 

Raylan lies next to him and says, "I'm sorry, you were much better. I still want to try."

 

"Next time," he says, kissing him and drawing his hand down.

 

"I guess I got the whole apocalypse to improve, huh?" He presses close and uses his hand on him, pulling his head close with the other hand and kissing him repeatedly.

 

"Yes," Boyd mutters, "lots of time." He puts his lips to Raylan's and pushes him back into the pillow as he starts to come. " _Damn,_ " he whispers, then falls silent. He reaches over and picks up his boxers from the floor to mop up his stomach with. He holds them out to Raylan to wipe his hand off on, and he does, though he can't help laughing about it. 

 

"It's okay if I sleep in here?" Boyd asks, and Raylan gives him a weird look. 

 

"Are you joking? You think I'd kick you out?"

 

Boyd sighs and says, "I don't think that, no. But I only want to stay if you want me in here."

 

Raylan rolls his eyes and douses the lamp, then gathers Boyd up in his arms. "Don't be fuckin' stupid, alright? Don't ask me questions like that. I told you I was done with the bullshit, and I'm trying very hard to make that be true. So in the spirit of that, I'm telling you that not only do I not mind, but I very much want you to stay. You'll stay."

 

"Alright," Boyd says quietly. "I'll stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two will be coming soon, but it isn't finished yet. I will start posting chapters, but there will be a longer lag time between them. They'll be longer, though.


End file.
